You stare presciently into unwritten history
Yet your focus is no more than a foot;
You quietly accept the foreknowledge of your destiny
And plan to dig deep your well-advised roots.
It appears that your wisdom far exceeds mine
But it is locked within your fragile frame;
And yet it blooms in your mind sublime
Sending forth rays from solemn eyes that tame.
Little Oracle break the chains that bind
Your tongue and speak of what will come;
Young Sage do not let me lead you blindly
But tell me how I can help you to overcome.
For you, my precious seer, have eyes that see
And can surely teach these things to me.
March 1995
Not strictly a sonnet due to meter, but I wasn't focused on that in 1995
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